“Well, son, you had a tougher time than either of us expected, didn’t you?” Henry asked.

“Guess so, Henry,” Alec answered, “but I’ll be ready for him next time!” He relaxed in the seat and let his head fall back on the cushion behind him.

“Tired?” Henry asked.

“Kinda”—Alec tried to hide the weariness in his voice—“even in spite of that nap I took this afternoon. Mother couldn’t understand it—said it was the first time she’d seen me in bed during the afternoon since I was four!”

“Guess you’ll have to keep doing that for a while, Alec. I’ve fixed it up with Jake to go over there about three nights a week. You see, we have to take advantage of the time that we have now, before the track opens up for the season. There’ll be too many horses and people around then to risk going in. I don’t want to let anyone know about the Black until he races—that is, except Jake; we can trust him.”

“If he does race,” Alec said soberly. “We should’ve had a letter by this time if he’s registered at all!”

“Aw, you never can tell,” Henry answered. “They’re pretty slow over there, y’know, and then there’s probably a lot of things they have to look up.”

“Yeah,” Alec agreed sleepily. He curled his legs underneath him. “Anyway,” he continued, “it’s pretty exciting just riding the Black like I did tonight on a track.”

“Yeah, and I must say you and the Black did a pretty good job. Made the track record look like it was made by a hobbyhorse!”

Fifteen minutes later they pulled up in front of the barn. Alec led the Black into his stall. Henry stabled Napoleon and then followed Alec into the Black’s stall. Together the boy and the man rubbed him down.

A few minutes later they left the darkened barn.

“Good night, Henry,” Alec said. “See you tomorrow.”

“ ’Night, Alec.”

The Ramsay house was still dark. Alec opened the door carefully and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. All was quiet except for an occasional snore from his father.

Wearily he undressed and climbed into bed—his body aching.

A few hours later the alarm clamored in his ear. Half-consciously he reached for it and turned it off. A sharp pain in his hand drove all the sleepiness from him. He sat up and looked at the blood-stained handkerchief still wrapped around his hand. He let his head fall back against the pillow. Then it hadn’t been a dream! He had ridden the Black last night! His eyes rested on the chair beside his bed where he had thrown his clothes. Hanging on the arm was his shirt—ripped by the wind.

His body still ached all over as he threw the blankets off and climbed out of bed. Quickly he dressed and tucked the torn shirt underneath his arm—he would throw it away before his mother saw it. He went into the bathroom, washed and took care of his cut hands. He clenched his teeth as he poured iodine on his hands—but his head was feverish with excitement.